


Vah Naboris

by farrah_yondale



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Gen, Gerudo Culture, i'm going to fight aonuma with my bare li'l pakistani hands, lots of lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-07 00:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11612007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farrah_yondale/pseuds/farrah_yondale
Summary: Link treks through Gerudo Canyon only to be captured by warriors who suspect him of being a Yiga Clan spy. Upon taking him to meet a familiar face, he recalls memories that belong to him and learns of memories that don’t, both of which will be vital to solving the age-long feud between the various Gerudo tribes and defeating the sauntering mechanical giant on the horizon.





	Vah Naboris

Blood runs and makes tributaries down her arms. Arms horribly scarred and bare, tattered cloth at her shoulder where a long-robed sleeve once hung. A discordant sound drums in her skull— _Stronger, stronger_ —like the onset of a horde.

Urbosa presses her fist into the hard floor, ignoring the squelch of knuckles in blood. Her arm shakes. Under her hand, she feels the light hum of her Divine Beast, all cogwheels and creaks. It sings to her now, weaving stories of the past and future, but she is too tired to listen. Her other hand reflexively grasps at the thin chain around her throat. When she leaves it and reaches out again, a red-blood print sticks behind to the necklace.

_You need to be stronger._

Her world cracks, ribs fracturing as she feels her chest go lax. Cold air rushes into her lungs, chilling her a degree closer to death. She inhales once, but no oxygen can reach.

_Stronger, stronger._

 

“Stop right there!”

Link’s head jerks up to where this voice is coming from. Of all the torments he has endured since waking up, he has to be grateful there’s a warning associated with this one at least.

Along the great Gerudo canyon at a section where the pathway narrows, a number of makeshift wooden ledges jut out from the canyon’s walls. Atop one of them sits a woman with her leg hanging languidly over the edge, as if she had just picked up her bow after her mid-morning tea. Her boots and clothes are similar shades of reds and browns that match the earthy tones of the canyon, and beside her crouches a similarly dressed woman.

“Nabooru, I don’t think that’s a bokoblin,” the crouched friend says. Her voice is mildly disinterested and only reaches Link’s ears because of the echo against the canyon walls.

For a minute, it looks like that’s not enough of an incentive for Nabooru not to shoot. Link instinctively holds up his hands.

“See?” the same voice says. “She’s a Hylian.”

“And how do you know she’s not a Yiga Clan member in disguise? Or did you forget what happened to Barta?”

Link lowers his arms just slightly to focus on the banter between the two women. They look too engrossed in their conversation to notice him. He begins to edge along the canyon floor.

“Not a step further!” Link’s foot freezes in mid-air. Apparently, not _too_ engrossed. The woman’s bow is pointed straight at him again. “State your purpose!” she shouts. “What business do you have in these lands?”

Nabooru tilts her chin at her companion. “Sana, go down and check for weapons.”

“Do I have to?”

After a fair bit of glaring, Sana eventually scrambles to her feet and makes her way down the ramp behind her, down to the lowest rung of their wooden perch. She slips a foot over the edge and jumps the last few feet to Link’s level. She shuffles over to him, patting him down like he would expect an experienced warrior to.

Up close, he can see that she wears thicker clothes than her irate companion. The dress and coat she dons reaches to about her ankles, the sleeves etched with embroidery, the whole of her shirt stamped with floral designs. When she taps over Link’s shoulders, they make eye contact and she gives him a friendly smile. Even with a hard, wide jaw, she’s clearly less threatening than Nabooru.

“Wow, you’ve got quite an arsenal here,” she whistles, picking apart his weapons. She tosses one of them uselessly to the side as if it’s a used tissue. Link’s first instinct is protest the way she manhandles his things, but Nabooru’s hiss stops him.

“Don’t move!” When Link glances back up her way, she’s also making her way down to him.

With Nabooru distracted by climbing down and Sana sifting through his weapons, perhaps he could…

Cold metal presses against his neck. Sana’s fist catches in his collar and he lurches back as if he’s a ragdoll at the mercy of a Lynel’s vicious teeth. The short knife against his throat digs against his carotid, his pulse quickening under the pressure. Sana’s short hair brushes against his ear as she murmurs:

“I may be a bit lazier than dear Nabooru here.” Her voice is smooth and deep, quite a contrast to the nonchalant way with which she regarded him before. “But there’s a reason the two of us are put on guard duty, even if it may not be apparent to the likes of you.”

“Sana, you’re being creepy again.”

With Nabooru pointing her arrow at him again, it’s safe for Sana to release their prisoner. Link’s relieved when she does, soothing his hand over his neck to make sure the skin is still intact.

“Sorry,” she says with a shrug, as if she had accidentally sipped his juice instead of threatened to slit his throat.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like Link is about to keep the skin over his neck intact, however, not when Sana pulls out the duplex bow from his back. She inspects the length of it, as if deeming the value of a rare jewel.

“That’s…” Nabooru starts. “A Yiga Clan bow.”

“Eh,” Sana replies with another shrug. “Of course she’d be out stealing Yiga bows when she doesn’t know how much better ours are.”

“Should I shoot her?”

Link’s chest tightens as Nabooru’s bow squeaks from the stretch.

Sana regards him as lazily as if she’s deciding whether to bid on an auction of a rather expensive vase. Link can’t help but wonder if she approaches every dire subject with such careless abandon.

“Let’s take her to Lady Saria and see what she wants to do with her.”

At the mention of Saria, Link’s heart leaps. A hundred years ago Link knew of Urbosa’s solemn little niece who went by the same name. If this is the same Saria, he may yet have hope for living through the day.

“Tie her up.”

Link doesn’t protest, not when it could ruin his chance to live. He hangs his head humbly, letting his arms go slack when Nabooru roughly ties a thick rope around his wrists. The knot is tight and the fiber digs deep into his skin, but still he keeps quiet. Raw wrists is a fair trade off for not dying.

Nabooru drags him by the arm, trailing just behind Sana as she leads them through the canyon. Neither of them engage him anymore. With the two of them walking in silence, he has nowhere to look but up. He can see the pale blue sky of a sunny morning running between the peaks of the canyon like a stream. As they walk, Link can see more makeshift ledges along the walls of the canyon, Gerudo teeming along every level of their sentry posts. None of them seem to even notice the party of three edging along the canyon floor until Link glances up at one of them and she gives a glare back.

Clearly, they did notice, and that was the last time Link would ever underestimate how observant the Gerudo were.

“Don’t even think about running,” Sana warns, glancing behind her. “Even if you manage to kill us, there are sentries everywhere. One of them will kill you.”

Link believes it.

“There’s a reason the Gerudo have survived Calamity Ganon’s onslaught practically unscathed these last one hundred years.”

That’s quite a boast to brag, but seeing how the Gerudo are thriving out here in the canyon, he has to think her proclamation might have some merit. He doesn’t dwell for much longer on the subject, however, when tiny roofs and windmills and laundry begin to peek over the horizon. Towards the end of the valley, where the canyon’s walls part wide-jawed to the open desert, sits a settlement. Folk are milling about, ranging in race from Gerudo to Hylian to Zora.

One of such citizens, a young Zora, rushes to meet them at the entrance of the village. The edges of their skin are tinged purple, as they happen to color when a Zora has hardly seen water in the last few days.

But if they’re dehydrated or otherwise in distress, they don’t show it, choosing instead to scream, “Nabooru!” They stop at the open wooden gate, leaning against one of its pillars and waving.

“Ertha,” Nabooru greets, less enthusiastically. Her look is that of an adult caught by an eager, talkative child who refuses to leave their side. She spares no moment to cut the niceties. “Go run ahead and tell Piaffe I need two horses.”

Ertha’s face falls with disappointment, their scales dulling to a pale lilac. Their fins flick. They don’t protest, however, and instead take one glance in Link’s direction and then head off as commanded.

As Nabooru and Sana steer Link through the village, Link takes in whatever he can: The Gerudo here wear something different from the sisters who have Link at their mercy, apparently choosing fashionable over practical. He supposes the women who live here aren’t at all warriors like those who patrol the canyon’s walls. They mill about in long robes, incredibly detailed geometric shapes lining the whole of their dresses with long drapes hugging tightly against short caps on their heads. Some choose trousers over skirts, but in terms of design, all of them are just as intricate.

The Rito wear similar clothing to their human companions, albeit sleeveless and opting for trousers on the chance that their talons get caught in the skirts. The Zora, as they usually do, walk naked much like their Lanayru counterparts, with the only difference being that most of them are flushed with violets and reds instead of the usual hydrated blues.

Link, so enthralled with the diversity of this little settlement, almost bumps face-first into a horse’s nuzzle. He flinches back, cutting short his own wail in the hopes that no one will notice. Nabooru does, however, and snickers.

The mare Nabooru and Sana settle Link onto is small, lean creature with a shiny golden coat. His hands, though still tightly bound, dare to wriggle a little to run through its sparse white mane. Sana settles behind him, while Nabooru mounts a horse of similar size, though of a clearly more muscular physique.

“The trek into the desert isn’t one for just any horse,” Nabooru explains, seeing the way he eyes both their horses. Link had never been an expert (though his father had always tried to see to it that he was) but he can still tell that despite the size of these mounts, they are obviously some of the stronger breeds in this stable.

“Now don’t you dare go leaving these horses out in the desert again,” the man behind the counter remarks in a nasally tone. He crosses his arms, as though that might offer some form of intimidation. Sana crosses her arms in response.

“Watch your attitude or I’ll have to kill you,” Sana rasps at the stablehand.

Link can’t tell whether this is a joke or not.

“Sana,” Nabooru says in a strained voice. “Please don’t threaten to kill the people we’re supposed to protect.”

Sana only continues to glare at the poor man, who has currently chosen to shrink down below the level of the counter so that only his eyes are visible. Nabooru tries to ease Sana with her own look but is ignored. Giving up, she kicks her mare into a trot with a shout.

For a moment, Link suspects that Piaffe might replace Link’s place in the graveyard today, until Sana suddenly breaks into a smile and sings, “I love you, Piaffe,” before following Nabooru off into the desert.

 

Link can’t help but envy the two Gerudo he accompanies. Had he known he’d be kidnapped and tied to a horse through a day’s trek through the desert, he would have worn something more suitable. Instead, he’s stuck with a heavy tunic and tight pants that do little in the way of keeping him cool. Link’s bound wrists rest on Sana’s long dress spilling underneath him, and just the feel of the cool linen is enough of a temptation for relief.

The two Gerudo’s demeanor has changed since reaching the desert. Perhaps they’re both just as tired of this heat as Link is. Under this burning sun, Link has no reason to care and instead keeps his head down, eyes away from the afternoon light.

Only after about a few hours of riding do either of the Gerudo speak.

“Uh, Nabooru…”

Sana’s hesitant voice hangs in the air. Link, head heavy and focused on the ground where there’s decidedly less sun, tries to drag his head up to what Sana could be referring to.

About twenty or thirty paces away, the sand shimmers under the afternoon light. For a minute, Link thinks nothing of it, not knowing what the cause of Sana’s nervous voice is, until he sees a familiar glow and five long appendages sticking out of a gourd-shaped body.

Nabooru glances to her left. On recognizing the guardian shuffling towards them, her demeanor shifts from placid to panicked.

“Go! Go!” Nabooru shouts frantically. But Sana doesn’t need prompting. Immediately, the two of them spur their mounts into a gallop.

With Sana leaning over him to better steer her horse, Link can only sit helplessly as she tries to outrun the guardian. But Link knows better. That beam can successfully hit its target from several meters away. A red light slides from Nabooru to the sand to Sana’s back. He braces for impact, hearing the countdown to release. But it doesn’t come. Sana steers her mount out of the way a fraction of a second before it fires, leaving the blowback from the explosion sending sand in the wind.

Link coughs and splutters from the dust, but Sana only blinks.

Undeterred, the guardian fires up another laser, this time setting its sights on Nabooru instead. With as much deftness, Nabooru steers her horse clear of the impact at the last minute. Again, and again the guardian targets the two Gerudo horsewomen, until Link notices that both rider and mount are beginning to tire of this chase.

Sana cuts the rope loose from around Link’s wrists. “Tell me you know how to ride a horse.”

“Sana!” Nabooru cries, half panting. “What are you doing?”

“Do you want to die?” Sana snaps before pushing herself to standing on her horse, bow in hand. With Link in front, she has even less leg room than usual and has to balance using his shoulders for a minute. She pulls an arrow from her quiver and takes aim.

The arrow flies, whistling through the air, and lands in the center of the guardian’s eye.

But of course, it leaves hardly a dent in its structure. The guardian’s aim hasn’t wavered from Sana.

“Link!” she screams in a panic.

But Link, it would seem, has lost more than just his memories and marksmanship since his hundred year slumber. His horsemanship has also suffered, and when he tries to pull his mount out of the way just as Nabooru and Sana had before, he doesn’t make it in time.

The beam connects with the hoof of their mount—barely at all, but it’s enough to make the mare trip in the sand, sending Sana and Link vaulting onto the ground.

“Sana!”

Nabooru’s mount brays in the distance. But despite Nabooru’s attempts to shift the guardian’s attention, its focus is on the two fallen warriors half a meter away from its feet. At this distance, a guardian’s laser would kill the both of them.

Before Link can think any more about how much it hurts to be fried, a shrill whistle punctures the air, and Link and Sana’s bodies are hurtling another few paces across the sand. Momentarily dazed, Link sits up, shaking grains of brown out of his hair and tries to make sense of what just happened.

Beside him and Sana now is a Gerudo warrior, tall and muscular even through the layers of cotton covering her entire body. He doesn’t understand the pained expression over her face until he sees raw skin peeking out of the ripped pant leg over her calf.

“I’m all right,” she assures.

His attention is then drawn by the heavy thud of hooves. A rider bursts past him. All around him is a sea of Gerudo warriors, on horses or sand seals depending on their preferred mount.

But one woman stands out from the rest of the warriors. She’s dressed similarly to Sana and like Sana, she stands while steering her horse and rides expertly, bow in one hand and reins in the other. The way she glides along the sand so smoothly reminds him of the way a fish might glide down the bank of a river stream.

She doesn’t spare a moment to target the guardian—and doesn’t seem to need one either. She fires her bow as if firing randomly, but hits the center of the guardian’s eye in one smooth stroke. As it whirs, large body halting and sparking from the onslaught, the other Gerudo take their chance. One warrior cuts across its legs. Another runs a blue-tipped scimitar under the length of its body, and another latches onto the top of it, jamming a glowing spear through its head. All the Gerudo look like small children clambering onto a large toy, eager for their turn to play.

The guardian begins to convulse uncontrollably and drops dead to the ground. Warriors, once eager and impatient, now scatter from the area of the incoming explosion. The quicker of them clamber onto their mounts and ride off to put some distance between them and the exploding machinery.  

The woman with the bow, however, doesn’t bother to move away as the guardian self-destructs. The blow sends her long dress and braids flapping wildly in the wind. When the guardian finally drops still in the sand, she moves to collect its remains.

“I’ve got you.” Link, so consumed by the spectacle of warriors before him, is snapped back to where he stands. Sana is still laying spread-eagled over the floor but otherwise unharmed. Another warrior has come to help their injured savior stand. Link scurries over to help.

“I’m all right,” she says again. The two of them give him an appreciative look before trudging back to one of the sand seals.

“Sana! Are you all right!”

Link isn’t given a chance to turn, not when Nabooru zooms past him, knocking him over and leaving him to tumble in the dust. She rushes at an exasperated-looking Sana, who accepts the embrace with a begrudging whine.

“Aww, you love me,” she coos.

“I thought you were going to die!” Nabooru screams back, burying her face into Sana’s shoulder.

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

With those two crying in each other’s arms, Link turns back to the warrior who had caught his attentions earlier. She’s currently trying to dislodge the arrow embedded in what remains of the guardian to no avail.

Eventually, she does manage to snap a fraction of it out.

“Damn it,” she mutters. “Looks like I’ve used up another arrow.”

On horseback, she had looked much taller. Upon standing up, Link realizes she’s much shorter than him.

The woman, who had apparently had zero interest in Link before, suddenly gives him a glare.

“Why is a Hylian taller than me?” she snaps, as if this is somehow Link’s fault. Her voice is surprisingly mature for someone who looks like a child. That ends her interest in Link, however, and she tosses the splinters in her hand uselessly to the side, making her way over to the two young Gerudo in each other’s arms.

“You two are lucky I’ve got this Sheikah seer with me. I don’t know what the hell I’d do without him.”

So enthralled by all the colors and movements of the Gerudo that Link hadn’t noticed that there had been a Sheikah with them all along. Unlike his countryside counterparts, however, he has chosen to wear clothes more fitting for a desert environment. Namely, a long white tunic with the Sheikah emblem etched into it, though his pants are still tight-fitted to allow for silent movement.

Though, that leads Link to wonder why exactly a Sheikah would need to move silently in Gerudo Desert.

The Sheikah edges behind the small Gerudo warrior, pulling down the mask over his face to reveal a mischievous grin. He folds his arms over the young woman’s head, resting his chin in her bright braided hair.

“Oooh,” he sings. “From Lady Inzhu, that’s practically saying I love you.”

“Shut it, you ingrate.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “Now if you only you would just reveal your true feelings for that Qayas queen.”

“Do you want to die?”

The Sheikah looks incredibly pleased with himself.

But now that Inzhu is no longer interested in indulging his teasing, he removes his arms off the perch that is her head and notices the only Hylian standing among a group of his darker-skinned country-folk.

“And who might this be?” he asks. His voice, even at its flattest level, contains a note of sing-song in it. A thrust, a hip-shake, as if words don’t know how to leave his throat without dancing out. It sounds magical and unsettles Link, especially when it’s coupled with that crooked grin that flashes over his face every other minute. “A new virgin for the harem? I didn’t know Hylians were your type, Sana.”

Sana, in an absolute silent rage, untangles herself from Nabooru’s arms and stomps over to the Sheikah. She stops about an inch from his face—which still has that arrogant grin over it—and, without a word, elbows him in the gut.

The man crumples into the sand, curling into a fetal position and moaning pathetically.

“You deserved that, Zurvan,” Inzhu says, pressing her lips together in annoyance. “I swear, if it weren’t for you I’d only have half as many rumors to stamp out about the Gerudo.”

“I can’t believe I’m related to you,” Sana growls.

“Anyway,” Inzhu continues, trying to ignore the heat of Sana’s glare being sent to her esteemed Sheikah. “I was about to ask the same question, albeit in a less vulgar manner.” It’s a diversion tactic to keep her seer from being murdered by his vengeful relative. It works when Sana lets out a huff in surrender.

“Fine,” she answers to the silent request of her queen. She turns to the subject in question: namely, Link and explains rather unenthusiastically, “We found her at the entrance of the canyon and she might be a Yiga spy. So we’re taking her to Lady Saria to figure out what to do with her.”

If Inzhu sees Link’s desperate attempt to recruit her to his side with a pleading look, she makes no mention of it. Instead, she regards the distant canyons on the horizon and says plainly, “I see.”

There’s a note of sorrow in her voice, which Link can’t quite figure out the source of. A valiant lady who had impressed him with her bow and her wit merely seconds ago has been reduced to a grave silence.

“Lady Inzhu, there’s no need to look so sad,” Sana assures. “We’ll take our home back from the Yiga clan soon enough.”

“In this lifetime, I hope,” she sighs in return.

“Shall we take him to Lady Saria, then?” Nabooru suggests, trying to keep the subject off her mind.

With one last glance at Link, she narrows her eyebrows and says plainly, “As you wish,” before clambering back onto her mount. Nabooru and Sana say nothing as she spurs her mare into a gallop, not daring to glance back over her shoulder as she rides off towards the horizon.

Half a pace away from Link, Zurvan begins to stir on the ground.

“Leave him,” Sana says. “He’ll be fine. Lady Inzhu’s patrol will make their way around here again before he wakes up.” She bites her lip and gives him a mischievous smile. “Trust me. This isn’t the first time this has happened.”

 

Link didn’t really have a choice the second time around when it came to be tied up. He was entirely dependent on these two for survival. If he tried to run, he would mostly likely die of a heatstroke before he could find his way back to the canyon.

So Link sat, on Sana’s mare, with rope holding his hands together again. Sana, tired of riding, chose instead to lead the animal in front, rein her hands. Every so often, she would glance back to make sure he hadn’t run away.

Link doesn’t need Sana or Nabooru to announce their arrival. The sudden smell of fresh plant life assaults his nose, the once dry air now moist and a relief to his senses. Along the canyon wall they approach is a lush growth of green moss and leaves, opening up to a secluded grove set in a stark contrast against the backdrop of the desert.

The Temple of Sindh.

Link remembers this place. It’s a holy place, where Gerudo priestesses make their home, where the borders of the various regional tribes have no consequence. A priestess is a priestess, whether she comes from the mountains, the plains or the desert.  

It is also, by and large, considered a miracle in this barren land. A lush fertile grove that overgrows over the walls with moss, cluttered with every form of greenery in the small space it occupies. Link feels like he’s stepped into another realm when Sana leads them onto the grass. Stepping into the Alcove of the Heroines is like stepping into a timeless past, like stepping into Link’s memories and making them real.

He’s glad to see nothing here has changed in the last one hundred years.

The priestesses have, however. They wear the same simple garb they have always worn: a white robe that covers them head to toe, save for their face and hands and occasionally their feet when they walk. But Link, who remembers following Zelda to this place countless times, doesn’t recognize a single face. Of course, the priestesses of his time have long since died or grown too old for religious duties. Link feels a deep pit of disappointment in his stomach. Of course, the same Saria he once knew couldn’t still be here.

Eventually, Sana and Nabooru halt their mounts in front of the steps of a shrine. It’s not like the small ones littered throughout Hyrule, unattended and with a forgotten history behind them. Link remembers special shrines like this one, ones guarded by sages and well-kept, ones that rise as high as the stories their caretakers weave. This one is reminiscent of Gerudo architecture with a large dome at its head and intricately designed pillars running along its porch. It glows, faintly, however, of the ancient Sheikah technology of all the other shrines.

“Lady Saria,” Sana greets.

For a moment, Link doesn’t recognize her at all, mistaking her instead for part of the tree that adorns her temple. Her hair is no longer a short, cropped red, but the color of the vines that wind around the pillars behind her. Her skin is dark, weathered and layered like bark and wrinkles like loose cloth when she smiles faintly. She steps onto the verandah in the same white robe as the younger priestesses and extends two frail arms out in the direction of their party.

“Link,” she cries, voice cracking like dried dirt.

Without understanding why or how, the bindings around Link’s wrists go loose, and he finds himself bolting off his mount and in the direction of those arms. His fear of Sana or Nabooru’s wrath has vanished completely and melts into warmth as he does. Saria is so old, so different in appearance, but still exactly the same. When her shaking, bone-thin arms wrap around him, he forgets that he is a hundred years in the future and knows only the Saria his age, the one he had known and grown up with and loved dearly.

 “Well, I guess we’re not killing her.”


End file.
